


Greatest of Us All

by JEAikman



Series: The Musketeers - prompts and one-shots [17]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Set in the future, Wakes & Funerals, but i know at some point d'art is captain of musketeers, but this was for a kinkmeme prompt i'm so sorry, d'artagnan dies, death in battle, i know i said killing him once was enough, not sure how book compliant it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/pseuds/JEAikman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was to be the greatest of them all.</p><p>That was what Athos had said.<br/>And the promising but raw Gascon farm boy had proven it to them all in his fight with Labarge. He had proven his courage and loyalty, and his skill with a sword. That had been so many years ago. But it was that same damned loyalty to his friends that got him killed, when it should have been them to fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greatest of Us All

He was to be the greatest of them all.  
That was what Athos had said. And the promising but raw Gascon farm boy had proven it to them all in his fight with Labarge. He had proven his courage and loyalty, and his skill with a sword. That had been so many years ago. But it was that same damned loyalty to his friends that got him killed, when it should have been them to fall.   
  
They had all been injured, except him, and, ignoring their pleas to leave them and save himself, he dragged each one off of the battlefield to be tended by the medics. Despite the constant roar of musket fire, he turned back again and again for his men - for he was their Captain now, and he could do no less for them.  
  
Athos held his trembling hands in fists as they lowered the coffin into the ground. At his side, Porthos was all but holding Aramis upright as he, usually the most charismatic and charming of the lot of them, stared ahead with dead eyes. Athos could see in them all his losses tallied. His friends at Savoy, Marsac, Adele... And now d'Artagnan, who they all would have followed into the fiery jaws of hell, had joined the ranks of the fallen. Athos watched Porthos stay strong for Aramis - if he fell apart, who would the priest to be have to lean on? No one. Athos had once again had a man who he considered a younger brother ripped from him.

Closing his eyes, he remembered that day, when the sound of the battle finally died, and they'd won, and he had been tended to and was now lying on a makeshift bed in their camp, and d'Artagnan had been limping in, dragging a bloodied and unconscious Aramis, who he had handed to the medics, and once they had him, d'Artagnan had spotted Athos on the bed and made towards him, collapsing at his side.  
  
Athos, who had been overjoyed at seeing his friends return, was now overtaken by a dread he had not felt since Thomas had been dying in his arms.  
"d'Artagnan?" He asked softly, turning his head. Their captain was holding a hand over his ribs, and blood was pooling around his fingers, his face contorted in a grimace of agony. "You're wounded! Call for a medic, you fool." But, ever the stubborn Gascon, d'Artagnan refused.  
"They are stretched too far already - let them help those who can be saved. I am not long for it, and I think you... you know that as well as I, Athos." Athos reached out to grab d'Artagnan's free hand and squeeze it tightly. D'Artagnan smiled.  
  
"We have long been good friends, my dear Athos. I owe you so much, and I must confess that I regret leaving you like th-" he was cut off when a deep breath caused a coughing fit that ended with blood dripping down from the corners of his mouth. Athos saw how his eyes were dimming, and, paying little mind to his own injuries, he got down beside d'Artagnan and held him in his arms.  
  
"Please, please, not yet. You're still young, you-"  
"Hush, now, Athos. You know- that's not-" He closed his eyes and bit his lip to stop from crying out from the pain. Porthos, who had only had a head wound, had now woken to find this scene, and he knelt next to them, hands hovering as if they could be useful, but seeing the shake of d'Artagnan's head as he lifted it and smiled up at him broke him out of the illusion that it was not too late. He fell to his knees next to them and between them, they held him as he tried to breathe - the sound of their youngest friend drowning in his own blood was too much to bear, yet they would not, could not, leave him to die alone.  
  
"Take... care of each other - promise... promise me that." He whispered with great difficulty. "A...thos" He managed, with great difficulty, to sit up and face his friend, gripping his shirt as desperately as Athos had that night so many years ago, when La Ferre was burning to the ground behind them. "Don't... do anything... reck...less. I don't want to see you for a good long time, understand?"  
  
"Is that an order, captain?" Athos managed to smile through his tears when d'Artagnan rolled his eyes.  
"It is if it has to be, soldier." His eyes flickered up to Porthos again, who was trying so very hard not to shake with his own sobs. "Look after them, Porthos. Get them into trouble, keep... keep them busy. Don't let... Aramis blame himself for this when he wakes up, either. It was my choice to save him. Don't let him think anything else." Porthos nodded, not trusting himself to speak, just tightening his grip with shaking hands. D'Artagnan closed his eyes and let out a sigh.  
"I will miss you, mes amis" His body went limp, and-  
  
It did not seem real. He refused to replay end of that memory. He wanted nothing more than to drown in drink, to forget, but it was his duty, his duty to bury the friend who for so long had been the only one who could raise him from the living dead - and one who he had done much the same for after the death of Constance Bonacieux. He is with her now, he told himself - as if that thought brought any comfort when he could still feel the blood on his hands, slick and warm. Athos was sick and tired of duty, but he would serve as a musketeer until he, too, fell, as he was too good a Catholic to put a bullet in his own brain. Aramis would go into the Church, as he had always promised to do. Porthos would marry his Alice. Perhaps they would have a child and name it Charles, after their fallen friend. But for now, the three would stay together, as d'Artagnan had asked of them. Until they were sure they would not do anything overly rash.  
  
Athos took a deep breath and walked forward. There were so many people - Charles d'Artagnan had been well loved by his Musketeers, and by the subjects of Paris. Standing before the grave, he glanced at Porthos, who nodded, and Aramis stood up straighter, waiting to hear what Athos had to say.  
  
"Charles d'Artagnan... to call him a good man would be accurate, yet not praise enough - he was the best of men, the truest and most loyal friend a man could be blessed with the fortune of possessing. For many years, Porthos, Aramis and I have shared that blessing, and none are more stricken by his loss than we.   
As many of you know, we were called the Inseparables, even before d'Artagnan joined our ranks. Which I think, by now, perhaps all of France knows the tale of" There were a few sad chuckles, and Athos allowed himself a rueful smile as he once again met his friends' eyes. "He gave us life again, a purpose - he was the glue that held us together. He was a devoted Musketeer, and there was no man I would rather serve under - it was his devotion to his soldiers, to his friends and brothers in arms that made him the man he was, and there was no way he would rather have gone down than protecting them - protecting us. He should be remembered for his honour, his devotion, and the love he bore his friends" He swallowed back the tears and clenched his firsts tighter, and he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning around to see Aramis give a small smile and Porthos on his other side. Sharing a glance, they all drew and raised their swords together, overlapping, as they had done many times before.  
  
One was missing. From now onward, one would always be missing.  
  
It did not feel right saying it out loud, but in their hearts, the words rang out.  
  
One final salute  
  
A last farewell.  
  
 **Un pour tous, tous pour un.**


End file.
